


Rules of Engagement

by MG12CSI16



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Based on the sitcom, Engagement, F/M, Family, Fluff, Friendship, Humor, Hurt/Comfort, Marriage, Romance, Sherlolly - Freeform, Some angst, sherlock gets in trouble
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-28
Updated: 2013-12-28
Packaged: 2018-01-06 10:24:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 11,925
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1105685
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MG12CSI16/pseuds/MG12CSI16
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A mental list of rules Sherlock compiles during his engagement to Molly. For experimental purposes of course... Established Sherlolly.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> A lighthearted Sherlolly story based on the sitcom, Rules of Engagement. I own nothing, sadly.

**Rule 1: Dead bodies are not romantic, and the morgue is probably not the best place to bring up the idea of spending the rest of your life together.**

Some people would probably say that conversations over a dead body aren't romantic and if they were anybody other than Sherlock Holmes, they would be right.

He kept his eyes glued on Molly as her delicate hands worked swiftly and she bit her lip in concentration, a habit she'd had as long as he could remember. Every once in a while she would lift her eyes away from her work, cheeks blushing furiously when he smiled at her. It was something she never seemed to grow out of regardless of their relationship and sometimes he wondered what it was about him that was able to earn a reaction like that.

As she began to sew the body back up Sherlock cleared his throat, discreetly slipping one hand into the pocket of his coat. Molly glanced up with eyebrows knit together and wondering smile tugging at her lips.

"You've been awfully quiet," she commented, her fluid motions almost hypnotizing.

Sherlock shrugged and kept his eyes down. He knew if he wanted to do this, it was best to just go for it.

"As you know we've been together for quite a while now and from what I've observed over the years people who are happy together normally take the next step when it comes to spending their lives with one another. Although how they don't find that utterly dull I'll never-"

"Sherlock, love, were you working up to something here or are you just thinking out loud again?" She hid a grin as Sherlock sent her a glare, slowly revealing his hand from the inside of his pocket and at the sight of the black velvet box Molly stopped, hand poised in the air as her mouth hung open.

He toyed with the box as he held it in his hands and the sudden wave of heat that had washed over him was foreign, something akin to feelings of sentiment if he had to guess. John wasn't here to explain to him after all. While he had definitely seen a change in himself since taking the next step in his relationship with Molly Hooper there were still some aspects of people that were lost on him, sentiment being one of them.

He knew he loved Molly and anyone who hurt her or made her cry could be sure that the actions would be reciprocated (to a much higher degree of course), but he had trouble expressing himself in a way that didn't bare the cold outer shell he had been showcasing for as long as he could remember. It was a miracle in itself that Molly was able to put up with him but since the day she had agreed to kill him without a second thought things seemed to change and his feelings had turned on him. While it was in no way an unwelcome thing it was surely unexpected.

When Molly had finally regained some of her composure, although her mouth still hung slightly open and she had yet to finish sewing up Mr. Hughes, she looked at Sherlock with questioning brown eyes.

"Is that what I think it is?" one gloved finger pointed in the direction of the box and Sherlock turned it over once more, flipping open the lid and looking back at Molly as if waiting for her approval.

The ring was gorgeous, a gold band with a thick, pale pink pearl placed in the center and surrounded by a dozen shimmering stones. It was old that much she could tell and she couldn't help it when a laugh escaped her lips. Of course a laugh wasn't what Sherlock was hoping for and his expression morphed into one of horror (or as close as you can get with Sherlock Holmes), and he shut the box quickly.

"You don't like it." It was in no way a question but instead a blatant statement and it broke Molly's heart when she realized she had hurt his feelings. She immediately lay down her tools and peeled off her bloody gloves, tossing them in the garbage and moving to cup Sherlock's face, making him look down at her.

"You are a bloody idiot if you think I don't absolutely love it." She grabbed the box from his hand and opened it, smiling at the ring before looking up again. "Where did you get it?"

"It was my grandmothers; she gave it to me long ago and instructed me to 'give it to a special girl.' I took it to be gracious but I had no intentions of ever putting it to use…marriage was never something I saw for myself but I look at John and Mary and I see how  _happy_ they are and I want you to be happy. You saved me and I owe you more than you'll ever know. Which is why it would be the greatest of honors, Molly Hooper, if you would let me be your husband." He swallowed thickly and picked up the ring, grabbing Molly's hand and gently sliding it on. A perfect fit.

It was no surprise to him that there were tears in Molly's eyes and she laughed again as she held her hand up to the light, admiring the jewel and the way it looked on her finger. He reached out and pulled her into his arms, kissing the top of her head as she wept with complete joy until she squirmed out of his embrace and pulled him in for a kiss, their lips meshing perfectly.

"Of course you nut." She brushed a curl out of his face before she looked at him pointedly. "And for future reference Sherlock, I know I spend all day around these corpses but it isn't what I would call a romantic location for a proposal."


	2. Chapter 2

**Rule 2: Don't spoil things for her. You may not share the same level of excitement but just remember that the couch will never be as comfortable as your bed.**

It was true that Sherlock Holmes wasn't a fan of social gatherings. Years of growing up and being made to dress in a suit while he greeted people he didn't know at his parents parties had taken their toll on the detective and if he was being honest tonight was no different.

While he didn't have to wear the suit he still found himself pouting on the couch while he watched Molly flit around the flat, tidying things as she passed and asking him to "please stop acting like a four year old."

He just rolled his eyes at her and continued to stare blindly at the television, occasionally calling out random things he could deduce about the people who passed by on screen. It wasn't until a knock sounded at the door and Molly squealed in delight before grabbing him by the arm and attempting to yank him onto his feet. He crossed his arms over his chest and stood next to the couch, unhappy at the interruption, but Molly was good at paying him no mind when he was in a mood. She instead opened the front door and smiled widely, a giggle escaping her lips and making Sherlock smirk at the sound of it. Immediately she pulled John into a hug when she saw him and the doctor didn't hesitate to return the gesture.

Sherlock watched the exchange with suddenly piqued interest.

After the detective's supposed death Molly had felt it was only necessary for her to try and help John heal, even though the man in question had been hiding in her flat during those years and was most certainly  _not dead_. Sherlock remembered the night she had cried to him and swore John would never forgive her when he found out about her role in his best friend's suicide; it was just after the doctor had finally reached a breaking point and Molly had watched him cry and scream and all she had wanted to do in that moment was tell him the truth, but she knew she owed it to Sherlock to harbor his secret in exchange for John's safety. Of course that hadn't been the case and John had looked at her with a mix of pain and absolute gratitude when he finally learned the truth, nearly shattering her right then and there.

Sherlock had always been grateful for that.

As the former soldier walked into the flat he clung tightly to his wife's hand and Mary politely smiled at Molly before she looked over at Sherlock, her eyes still holding a hint of uncertainty. He knew she blamed him for the problems her husband had had when they first met, the nightmares and the absent behavior that seemed to take away from his real personality. He didn't really fault her for it either, but he still wished it was something she could look past. If she was as important to John as Molly was to him he wanted them to be on good terms. He considered this a big step for himself.

As the mood in the house settled John joined Sherlock on the couch silently and Mary trailed after Molly as she headed for the kitchen, sternly telling the two to be at the table in fifteen minutes but only receiving a wave of a hand in response from Sherlock. For the first few moments they stared blankly at the sitcom flashing on the screen before John cleared his throat and looked over at Sherlock who looked absolutely bored.

"How have you been?" he asked, his polite tone making Sherlock scowl. It had been some time since they had a case and John had been spending the majority of his time at the surgery when he wasn't at home with Mary. It was safe to say that while things weren't exactly strained between them, they were different.

Sherlock answered with a quiet, "I've been fine," before folding his hands in his lap and glancing away. John nodded, pleased with the answer and obviously unsure of what to say.

"Mrs. Hudson's been asking about you," he said suddenly. "She wants you and Molly to stop by. It's been a while since you've been home."

Sherlock's head snapped up at the mention of home. When he returned from the dead he had found their old flat had been taken over by John and his new bride, definitely a surprise to him but he had settled back into his old bedroom and carried on as normal. For the first few weeks things played out like they had before (apart from the tension between the new Mrs. Watson and the detective), but when Sherlock and Molly had decided to go forward with their relationship he began spending most of his time at her flat and John rarely saw him at 221B.

"We've been busy," he lied, but then quickly added, "Tell her we'll try and drop by Thursday night," when he saw the sadness in his eyes. John smiled at his friend and then looked down at his watch before standing up.

"Might want to get a move on, don't want to be surrounded by angry women the rest of the night do we?"

As they took their places at Molly's tiny kitchen table things seemed to be returning to a state of normalcy. It was nice to have friends around and Sherlock knew Molly loved to see John looking happy again. Sherlock sunk back in his chair, pushing the food around on his plate as he listened to the conversation between Molly and Mary while his boredom continued to grow at an alarming rate.

From her spot beside him she smiled faintly and he looked down at the ring on her finger and he suddenly remembered why Molly had even invited their friends over in the first place. He figured some unexpected news would create a little more excitement. He looked at John who raised an eyebrow at the look on his face and Sherlock cleared his throat loudly.

"Molly and I are getting married." He announced to the room, practically deadpanning. He was met with stunned silence, John staring at him with his fork poised in midair and his mouth open. He could feel Molly glaring at him but he couldn't bring himself to meet her eyes. Thankfully he was saved by Mary who picked up on the sudden tension in the air before she congratulated them both and began asking questions about the wedding.

While Sherlock was no expert when it came to women or feelings he could tell by the look on John's face that this was not going to end well.

* * *

When dinner ended John and Mary were quick to make their departure. The tension between Sherlock and Molly was overpowering by the time they had finished eating and they both knew the couple needed some space. With their goodbyes out of the way they slipped out the door and Sherlock suddenly wished they'd come back. He swallowed and looked down at Molly, offering the only words he could think of.

"I'm sorry."

"Do you know how long I've been cooking today Sherlock? Or how much time I spent picking up all of your experiments so we could eat at the table? I planned this dinner so we could tell them together, not so you could just blurt it out and pretend it's not a big deal!"

Internally, Sherlock sighed but he kept quiet until the rampage coming from his impossibly tiny fiancé began to die down.

"I'm sorry," he said again but Molly had already disappeared down the hallway and he trudged towards the bedroom where he heard her shuffling around. He stopped at the door and folded his arms, leaning against the door frame with his eyebrows knit together and head cocked to the side.

"I know I'm not an expert at these sort of things but I feel like you're angry with me." His only answer was the pillow she flung at his head and the finger that pointed him towards the couch.

_Great._


	3. Chapter 3

**Rule 3: Sometimes sacrifice is necessary. Even when said sacrifice means you have to throw out the new organs you've just managed to get from the morgue because your future mother in law decides to pay an unexpected visit.**

It was early afternoon when Molly flung open the door to her flat, throwing her things down and shrugging off her coat in a rush. She flew by Sherlock, nothing more than a blur as he looked up from his microscope and reached over to grab the bowl of kidneys he had managed to bring home from the morgue the day before. It had been a fight to convince Molly to let him have them but eventually he had won and she just rolled her eyes when he bent down and offered her a kiss before sprinting home to prepare them for his latest experiment.

Moments later Molly reappeared, dressed in some of her nicer clothes and braiding her long hair with nimble fingers.

"You're back early," he commented, not bothering to look up. Molly muttered around the hair clip she currently had in her mouth and Sherlock smirked. He jotted something down in his notes and when he looked back up Molly had disappeared to the sink where she was washing out the bowl that had moments ago been holding his organs.

He looked around seeing that they were gone and practically sprinting to the sink and seeing the red stained water as Molly scrubbed the dish furiously. His eyes bugged as he looked at her.

"What have you done that for? I need those for research, Molly!" his hands flailed and Molly rolled her eyes, shoving the bowl towards him.

"Please Sherlock; I don't have time to argue with you. We have to get the flat nice, my mother's dropping by for a visit apparently and she hasn't bothered to call until this morning." At the mention of his future mother in law Sherlock almost dropped the bowl but instead set it on the counter and followed Molly into the living room with a million questions pouring from him at once.

"How long is she staying? Please tell me this is just a day visit because Molly I don't know how you expect me to keep my observations to myself for more than the evening. The last time your mother stopped by I was forbidden to say a word." He rambled on as she straightened the throw pillows on the couch and she had to hide a giggle.

"It's just for dinner Sherlock, and please don't make a big deal out of this. My mother adores you but sometimes you have to realize that it's rude to point out how much weight a woman's gained when you're in front of her family." She looked pointedly at him and he sheepishly turned his head.

"Well it's not as if it wasn't an obvious statement." He argued.

"Sherlock…"

* * *

Sherlock considered Molly to be a carbon copy of her mother. Both women had long auburn hair with a reddish tint, deep hazel eyes and impossibly tiny frames. They sometimes mimicked each other's expressions and it wasn't hard to see where some of Molly's habits came from.

The first time he had met Dianne Hooper was shortly after his return to the land of the living, when John still needed time to clear his head and Scotland Yard refused to even blink in his direction when he demanded a case. He had stayed cooped up in Molly's flat and the pouting had begun to drive her out her mind.

She had planned a trip home that weekend to see her mother and a few childhood friends and just for the hell of it decided to ask Sherlock if he'd like to come along. She hadn't even dreamed he would accept the offer but the next day she found herself gripping the steering wheel so tight her knuckled were white while Sherlock merely stared out the window in the passenger's seat at her hometown passing by.

Molly thought it was stretching the truth to say the first encounter didn't exactly go to plan and she had cursed the dark headed detective under her breath repeatedly when she had to help him clean the wine from his clothes when he had taken it upon himself to share some unappealing facts about Dianne in front of their company. Of course, knowing her mother, the anger didn't last long and Sherlock had even given her an apology that seemed rather heartfelt. It wasn't long after that that Molly had found herself immersed in a romantic relationship with the man she had been pining for almost a decade.

Tonight seemed to be going a lot smoother than that day had, the dinner table was comfortably silent as the trio ate and Sherlock appeared to be keeping his word about being on his best behavior. He pushed his pasta around on his plate before dropping the fork and letting it clink against the glass without blinking.

"So Dianne, I'm assuming Molly told you the news already yes?" he glanced down and the ring caught his eye, his hand moving to settle on Molly's knee and he squeezed gently. He had to start a conversation or else he was going to go mad.

He could already feel his mind swirling as his eyes cast over the woman in front of him.

At the mention of her daughter's engagement he watched Dianne's eyes light up and she clapped her hands. "Of course, she called almost as soon as you asked. The ring is lovely." she cooed.

He listened to the women chat about wedding plans for a few moments, Molly's tinkling laughter filling the kitchen although it did nothing for him and he found himself once again staring off into space and a million facts were swirling in his brain, fighting to be brought to light and bask in the attention. Finally he couldn't take anymore and he suggested they move to the living room where he could at least flip on the television and rot his brain with mindless reality television.

It was his only hope if he wanted to avoid another night spent on the couch.

* * *

Just as Molly said, Dianne's visit didn't last very long. The older woman had said something about wanting to get a head start on driving home before it got too dark and he watched as she pulled Molly into a tight embrace and the two clung to each other. He smiled when he saw the connection the two had and he made a mental note to call his own mum in the next few days, to keep Mycroft off of his back of course.

When goodbyes were out of the way and the flat was empty except for the two of them, Sherlock audibly breathed a sigh of relief. Molly just rolled her eyes and scoffed, nudging him with her elbow and he lazily turned his head towards her.

"Come on, it wasn't that bad." She said, "You did well anyways; I think it's safe to say she was impressed with your self control."

"Please, my self control means nothing right now. I'm once again short three kidneys!" his exasperated outburst drew a smile from Molly and she reached over, gently kissing his lips.

"I'll do my best to find you some more alright?" she kissed him again and he cupped her cheek with his hand.

He supposed waiting wouldn't be so bad.

 


	4. Chapter 4

**Rule 4: Never try and get rid of the cat. It doesn't matter how much it meows or paws at your experiments, she will always value the cat's well-being over your intellectual breakthroughs.**

For as long as he could remember Sherlock Holmes was not a fan of pets.

He never had the privilege of owning one as a child, his father shot down the idea of having animals in the house when Sherlock was fairly young and he never could find the courage to ask. The only time he ever interacted with an animal by the time he was a teenager was when he performed his own experiments and autopsies, his mind eager to learn what he could through the anatomy of squirrels and rabbits he found around his childhood home.

He knew Molly had cats the moment he met her. The fine hairs that stuck to her clothes told him she had three when he first found her working in the morgue almost a decade ago. Sometimes when he worked she would try and fill the silence with stories about them, and for some reason Sherlock never really had the heart to stop her.

As time wore on she lost two of them to age and both times he found her weeping at her desk but he hadn't been one to offer comforting words. Thinking about it now sent a slight wave of guilt through him.

After defeating Moriarty and going into hiding he found himself in the company of her one remaining cat Toby while she spent her days at work and it was fairly safe to say the two didn't get on very well, or at least in Sherlock's mind. Toby liked attention, and when Molly wasn't around to give it to him he tried to find it in the company of Sherlock, whether he was busy or not. He had lost count of how many times he removed the animal from his lap or found him tucked into the back of his knees when he managed to sleep. He was also fond of making some of the most horrible sounds the detective had ever heard from an animal before, constantly yowling at his feet while he tried working on his experiments.

Today though, Sherlock had reached a breaking point with Toby.

He returned from a phone conversation with Molly in the sitting room, having left his things out on the tabletop without a second thought. He strolled into the kitchen with his eyes on his phone, fingers furiously typing a message when he looked up at the sound of something tumbling to the floor with a heavy  _clank_. Sherlock nearly dropped the device when he saw the orange tabby sitting contently next to his microscope, head cocked to the side as he watched Sherlock whose face was flushed a dangerous shade of red.

His notebook that held the information he had been previously gathering was lying on the floor, a bloodied scalpel on top that he had used earlier. Toby looked at him and meowed once, blood staining his tiny white paws. Sherlock swallowed back the wave of anger building up inside of him and looked around the room quickly and his eyes brightened as an idea formed in the recesses of his mind. Taking in a deep breath he approached the table and picked Toby up in one swift movement, giving him his best angered look he could manage before grabbing his coat and slipping out the front door.

* * *

"Sherlock!"

His head snapped up in what he assumed was record speed and it's a wonder he didn't get whiplash. He could hear feet stamping across the living room floor and the sound of the door slamming heavily. When he realized it was only Molly though he turned his attention back toward his work. The only thing that stopped him dead in his tracks was the meow that came from the kitchen entrance. He looked up and saw Molly standing there, still in her coat and she was holding a filthy Toby in her arms. Sherlock swallowed and folded his hands in his lap calmly.

"Hello," he said, although his voice wavered slightly, "how was work today?"

Molly's jaw was set, her foot tapping rapidly on the tiled floor and Sherlock was actually afraid to breathe, let alone move. Toby was wriggling in her arms and his orange fur was stained with something Sherlock was sure wasn't pleasant. His ears were flattened against his head and he looked almost as agitated as his owner.

With slow steps Molly approached the table, dropping the cat on top and he just stared at Sherlock with a look the detective resented more than anyone would probably ever know. He decided to try his luck with a charming smile and he batted his eyelashes at the time bomb in front of him that was Molly Hooper.

"So…Toby got out again it looks like. I must have forgotten to shut the window." He glanced toward the screen above the sink and his eyes bugged when he realized it was sealed tightly. He bit his bottom lip and squeezed his eyes shut.

"Nice try Sherlock. I found him outside the flat, absolutely filthy and howling like crazy. He smells that bloody meat shop around the corner!" her voice raised a few octaves and Sherlock winced.

"It's not my fault, he ruined my latest experiment and I had important information that I needed to collect by tomorrow if I want it to be admissible! Locking him in the bedroom won't do and you won't put him in a crate, what else was I supposed to do with him?" he folded his arms over his chest and his challenge hung in the air.

Molly ran a hand through her hair and sighed. "Not drop him off in an alley and let me think he jumped out the bloody window!" she turned on her heels, promptly disappearing and Sherlock raised an eyebrow. Had he really won that easily?

He was almost certain he had until she came marching back in, throwing a towel at him and pointing to Toby, who still hadn't moved from his spot in front of Sherlock.

"What's this for?" he asked and Molly called over her shoulder as she headed for the living room.

"You made the mess, you clean it up." He groaned and leaned back in his chair and as if he was putting in his own two cents about the situation Toby let out a slight yowl. Sherlock could only glare.

"Oh shut up."

 


	5. Chapter 5

**Rule 5: Tell her she looks beautiful without waiting for her to ask. You'll be surprised what it can get you.**

Sherlock did not consider himself a patient person.

He hated to wait and nobody knew this better than Molly. He constantly walked around the morgue while she worked; complaining that his results were taking too long or that John was ten minutes late getting off of a shift and it drove her insane. Which is why he had no idea what possessed her to ask him to come along while she picked out a dress for the bridal shower Mary was throwing her, or why he agreed to come.

It was however, the reason he was sitting on an uncomfortable plastic chair and staring at the curtain Molly was changing behind. He checked his phone for the umpteenth time, praying Lestrade would text him with a case or John would pick this exact moment to want to get together for a chat. Of course the odds of either one happening looked dangerously low and he sighed audibly as he stretched his legs in front of him.

"I heard that." Molly called to him from the dressing room before drawing back the curtain and stepping out. She wore a knee length green dress that hung from her body, it looked lifeless and Sherlock thought it did nothing for her.

"No." he said bluntly, eyes unblinking. Molly frowned and turned toward the mirror next to him.

"You really don't like it?" she asked, smoothing her hands over the fabric and turning slightly. Sherlock shook his head and Molly deflated slightly at the gesture. Without another word she disappeared behind the curtain again and Sherlock pulled himself to his feet and decided to wander past women's section of the department store.

He let his feet carry him for a while, his boredom acting like a guiding light as he explored the inside of the store, making a few rounds before he decided it did little to cure the dull atmosphere he was trapped in. He never shopped so it was new territory being in there and he had no idea why people found it to be an enjoyable activity. He stopped when he had made what he  _thought_  was a complete circle and reached a set of dressing rooms once more and he moved to take what he  _thought_  was his seat he had recently been occupying.

He toyed with the frayed end of his sweater, eyes cast downward before he heard the curtain draw back and he glanced up to see yet another one of Molly's dull dress choices. Only this time when he looked up he wasn't looking at Molly and this woman was definitely not wearing a dress. In fact she was barely dressed at all and the skimpy lingerie she did wear left little to nothing to the imagination. Her eyes widened when she saw Sherlock but she stood back and turned around slowly, an impish grin on her face when she recovered.

"What do you think of this?" she all but purred and he felt his own eyes widen as he stammered, trying to find somewhere else to look.

"I uh…I'm sorry. I thought this was a…" he looked around frantically and he saw the sign in the middle of the floor, advertising racks of lingerie and nighties. He exhaled sharply, pressing a hand against his forehead and looked at the woman one last time as he backed away.

He knew there was a reason he never came here.

"I really do apologize." He said again and all but sprinted towards the other side of the store, ignoring the odd looks other shoppers began to give him. He rubbed his face with his hand roughly as he slowed to a walk and drug himself back towards the direction he was sure Molly was in. He caught sight of her socked feet under the curtain and he breathed a sigh of relief before dropping into the chair.

The curtain was pulled back slightly when she heard him and Molly poked her head out, eyebrows knit together.

"There you are. Where on earth have you been? I swear you can be such a child." She chuckled before disappearing once more and this time when the curtain was drawn back Sherlock felt himself staring as Molly stood in front of him.

This dress she wore was a deep red, hitting just above her knees and hugging her waist and highlighting her curves beautifully. When she turned he saw how it dipped in the back, exposing the milky skin he had the sudden desire to run his fingers over.

He stood up and took her hand, twirling her once so he could take in the entire picture. She was already blushing furiously at the attention and his touch. He kissed her cheek, moving his lips to brush against her ear slightly.

"You look absolutely lovely." He murmured. Molly giggled and turned her wide eyes up towards him.

"Really?"

He smiled and his hand found her waist, resting on her hip. "You're beautiful."

She chewed her bottom lip carefully and broke away from him, once again heading into the dressing room before he could utter a complaint. She reappeared in record speed, dressed in her sweater and blue jeans and she held the dress in her hand before grabbing his with the other and making a beeline for the check out.

"Molly slow down, what's the matter?" she stopped short of the counter and pulled him closer, kissing him lightly and letting her lips linger near his before pulling away. He missed the feeling almost as soon as it ended.

"The sooner we get out of here the sooner we can finish that."


	6. Chapter 6

**Rule 6: She will love you no matter what you do, but if you catch her kitchen on fire at least try and look sorry.**

Sherlock knit his eyebrows together as he squinted at the tiny words on the crinkled, yellowing paper propped up in front of him.

He was in no way a trained cook and it was more or less a dangerous fact that he now stood in Molly's kitchen with an array of pots, pans and the majority of her refrigerator spread out on the counter in front of him as he stared helplessly at the recipe she had pulled out of her grandmother's cookbook the night before.

He vaguely remembered how she had dug through the book, sitting cross legged in the living room floor and the smile that crossed her face when she found what she was looking for stirred something in him. It was obvious that it had something to do with sentiment and when she told him she was going to make it for him the next day he had actually managed to look excited.

Unfortunately she had called him just an hour before she was supposed to be finishing her shift and revealed that she would be a few hours late. He pretended he didn't hear the obvious disappointment in her voice and hung up the phone quickly. It was in that moment he decided he had nothing to lose and he grabbed the piece of paper off the counter, setting off to try and make the dish before Molly returned home.

That had been an hour ago and by now he had completed almost nothing. While he considered cooking to be simple chemistry it didn't make this particular task any easier and he ran a hand roughly through his hair, exhaling sharply. He peered into the pan that held the sauce that was supposed to be simmering, but the red liquid looked slightly questionable as it bubbled. He pursed his lips and looked back at the recipe for assurance before glancing at the clock and deciding to wait out the next fifteen minutes in the living room.

He waltzed out of the kitchen without looking back, flopping onto the couch and turning on Molly's television.

* * *

It would be an understatement to say Molly was exhausted when she finally pulled up to her flat that night. A three car accident had left her at the morgue almost two hours past her shift and she felt all the muscles in her body protest as she moved to collect her things from the backseat. With her bag slung across her shoulder she made her way up the concrete steps, stopping short when a harsh odor wafted by and she internally groaned.

Quickly opening the front door she threw her things down and ran to the kitchen only to be greeted by a thick cloud of gray smoke and the high pitched wail of the smoke alarm. Sherlock stood by the stove and frantically waved a dish cloth in an attempt to clear the smoke and put out the small orange flame that was licking at the air. The red substance that now covered her counter and part of her wall caught her eye and she feared to ask what it was.

Shaking her head and focusing on the situation at hand she scurried towards her fiancé and picked up the lid, throwing it back on the pan and watching the fire disappear. When the immediate threat was gone Sherlock seemed to calm slightly and he straightened up, smoothing out his shirt and leaning against the counter casually. Molly stood back and stared at him.

"Sherlock, what on Earth are you doing?"

He looked at her and raised an eyebrow. "Cooking," he said simply.

"Cooking?" she echoed, thankful the substance covering her kitchen wasn't a chemical concoction or some sort of bodily fluid.

Sherlock nodded, keeping his face blank and Molly just sighed as she jerked her head towards the living room and he took it as a sign he was no longer allowed in the kitchen that night.

"I'll clean this up, try and keep yourself busy somewhere else alright?" he handed her the towel still in his hand and slunk out of the kitchen feeling slightly disappointed.

* * *

Nearly half an hour after she began cleaning the kitchen Molly was finally able to crawl into bed next to Sherlock. He froze when he felt her side of the bed dip down, the springs squeaking slightly as she settled herself. He swallowed thickly and turned over, facing the ceiling. He cleared his throat and watched one of her brown eyes open as her lips formed a thin line.

"I'm sorry I set your kitchen on fire."

He was met with silence.

"I was going to set the timer but it must have escaped me."

Once again there was only silence.

He huffed and flipped onto his side so he was facing her.

"I was only trying to make dinner for you, no crazy experiments. I knew how much you wanted to try your grandmother's recipe and since you were working late I thought I'd try and expand my knowledge in the kitchen while doing something nice." He threw in a small smile for good measure and for just a moment she stared at him.

Then, without warning she leaned over and roughly kissed him. He dug his fingers into her long hair and kissed her back, happy to know she wasn't completely angry with him. When she pulled away she gave him a small smile and her eyes were visibly brighter.

"That is the sweetest thing anyone has tried to do for me Sherlock. Thank you."

So, maybe he needed a little more practice but he decided cooking was not a useless skill.


	7. Chapter 7

**Rule 7: Nighttime is for sleeping, not for playing the violin at ungodly hours or going through unpacked boxes because you've suddenly decided it's time to redecorate what you now consider to be her 'painfully dull'** **flat.**

Just a few weeks before their wedding Sherlock officially moved in with Molly.

It was a bittersweet step in the relationship and while he was rarely at 221B it still allowed a feeling of melancholia to wash over him as he left behind John and Mrs. Hudson. Of course they were happy for him and it was a big step for the detective who most thought was destined to be alone. He did his best to soothe Mrs. Hudson when she clung to him, fighting a grin when she sniffled and pulled out a tissue she had stuffed in her pocket.

He expected a simple handshake from John, nothing that showcased too many emotions but he was taken by surprise when the former solider hugged him and he found himself returning to the gesture and ignoring the cooing of the women behind him before he pulled away and frowned. With the goodbyes out of the way it was time for him to leave behind the only thing he'd known for the last five years and he felt Molly squeeze his hand as they got in the car.

By the time they got home all the boxes were maneuvered into Molly's flat she was exhausted and made a plan to unpack the next morning. While she knew Sherlock would most likely be up all night she didn't share his ability to go without sleep and she almost sighed in relief when she crawled under the covers and dozed off quickly, head resting on Sherlock's chest.

For a while he was content with the arrangement as well, listening to Molly's now shallow breathing and flipping through infomercials but sooner or later he knew the restlessness would take over. He flicked the TV off and gently moved out from underneath Molly, watching her roll over without waking.

His feet made a dull thud against the hardwood but he knew it wouldn't wake the woman in the back room and he didn't try and quiet his steps. Stopping in front of his belongings that were still packed away he bit his lip and looked around the flat. The walls were mostly bare except for the deep orange paint that offered a bit of warmth but did little to capture the eye and he thought the place could do with a little redecorating.

Sherlock approached one of the boxes and tore it open quickly although he was uncertain what was inside. He had rolled his eyes when Molly tossed him a marker and told him to be sure he and John labeled his things. Now of course, her idea made sense as he sifted through what was apparently nothing more than his jackets and slacks.

Grunting in disappointment he dropped the box on the floor and pulled the one beneath it closer, opening it and feeling satisfied when he found his skull and violin sitting on top, along with some of his 'memorabilia' he deemed too important to leave behind or throw out.

He suddenly lost interest in his previous mission and he opened the case holding his violin before lifting it to his chin and playing a few notes. It had been a while since he had played, spending more time in the lab or the morgue with Molly when he couldn't get a hold of a case. It felt good to step into familiar territory and he continued to play until he heard footsteps and Molly seemed to suddenly appear around the corner with her haired ruffled from sleep.

"Sherlock, what the hell are you doing? It's almost three in the morning!" she threw her hands up, the hem of his t-shirt that she was wearing rising just slightly to reveal the tops of her thighs and he had to tear his gaze away.

He cocked his head to the side and scowled at her. "You were sleeping, I was bored and I figured I'd try and liven this place up a bit." He gestured to the walls to make a point. "Really Molly? Orange?"

Molly blinked then rubbed her eyes and began to wish she was dreaming but the music coming from Sherlock told her this was definitely real life and there was no escaping it now.

"You've been in this house countless times in the last three years, why are you just now deciding you don't like the color of the walls?" she was losing her patience and using John's technique of counting to ten just wasn't cutting it.

"Oh I've never liked it, I just didn't think it was appropriate to point it out while you were stitching my wounds and I was busy trying to take down a web of dangerous criminals who were trying to kill my friends."

Molly took a deep breath and closed her eyes and when she opened them again she couldn't help but smile in the end as Sherlock sifted through his things, the obvious joy they brought to him was just something she couldn't bear to be angry at and she allowed herself to relax.

She lowered herself to the ground and pulled a box closer to her, peering inside and seeing something that immediately caught her eye. It was a photo that was obviously old and the edges were beginning to crinkle beneath the black wooden frame it was encased in. There were two young boys looking at the camera, dark hair on both and bright eyes.

She immediately picked out Sherlock, the younger of the two looking back at her and she smiled at the youthful look on his face as he smiled at the camera. She nudged him with her elbow and when he looked down at what she held at her hand he paused.

"That was just after our father died," he murmured when he finally found his voice. "My mother took down all the photos of him in the house after it happened. She started filling the spaces with pictures of Mycroft and I…I found this one in my bag when I left for university and I never had the heart to do away with it."

"Well, I think both of you look handsome." She stood up with the picture in her hand and found an empty space on the wall where a picture of her and an old boyfriend used to hang. They had broken up just after Sherlock began to come around the morgue and it wasn't until now that she found the fact suspicious.

Carefully she hung it up before standing back and putting her hands on her hips, looking satisfied with her work. She heard Sherlock come and stand behind her, a hand resting on the small of her back.

"Thank you," he said softly, "and I'm sorry I woke you."

She laughed and pecked him on the cheek. "It's alright, at least now I know what John meant when he said he'd rather sleep on a park bench some nights."

Sherlock scoffed. "Please, John is lost without me."

Molly could only roll her eyes and make her way back to bed. He frowned and called after her.

"Where are you going?"

"Sherlock it's three o'clock in the morning, I'm going to bed.


	8. Chapter 8

**Rule 8: You should probably take her superstitious mind seriously, at least for the sake of her sanity (and maybe yours as well).**

"Molly! Molly, have you seen my mobile?" Sherlock burst through the front door to the flat, not bothering to close it behind him as John tried his best to keep up with the detective. The doctor scowled as his friend continued to shout for Molly and noticed he didn't see any sign that the pathologist was even home as he shut the door.

Sherlock had borrowed her car this morning, showing up at John's home at a ridiculous hour and practically skipping into the living room with news of a client located just outside the city. They had just made it to the outer part of London when Sherlock realized his phone wasn't in the pocket of his coat and he demanded they turn around so he could look for it before driving any farther.

So, to put it in simpler terms, John Watson was slowly losing his patience patience for the day.

He flopped onto the couch and sighed, looking at his watch and realizing if they wanted to meet their new client by lunch time then they would have to leave soon. He sat up and craned his neck to see what Sherlock was up to and he held back a laugh when he saw him struggling to dig through the hamper at the end of the hall.

Sherlock grunted and threw the wrinkled and dirty trousers he held to the floor and went to look in the bathroom. John shook his head and chuckled, picking up the newspaper on the coffee table in hopes of passing the time Sherlock was wasting. He skimmed through the front page article and listened to the commotion coming from Sherlock but suddenly a high pitched shriek had him on his feet and running down the hall.

He heard a door slam and saw Sherlock standing outside the bedroom looking absolutely dumbstruck. He glanced at John and then back at the door before knocking rapidly with his knuckles.

"Molly love, are you alright?" there was a muffled voice on the other side of the door and John breathed a sigh of relief when he realized she more than likely wasn't hurt.

"I'm fine Sherlock, just go away please." Her voice was strained and she was practically begging. Of course Sherlock didn't pick up on the hints that John did and he knocked on the door again, jiggling the handle.

"I need to come in there. John and I are on a case and I need my mobile." He crossed his arms and huffed, looking to John as if he had a better idea. Rolling his eyes he stepped forward and knocked softly.

"Molly, it's John. Are you alright?" he waited for her reply and was surprised when he heard her sniffle.

"Tell him to close his eyes." Sherlock looked at John in confusion but he could only shrug and encourage him to do what she said. The detective groaned but shut his eyes and John knocked again.

"Alright Molly, he's closed his eyes." As he said it he heard the soft click as the door opened and a hand shot out, wrapping around his wrist and pulling him into the room before it slammed again.

John was still confused and slightly worried but when he turned around he lost track of nearly all his thoughts and a smile slowly spread across his face. Molly was looking at him with a tear streaked face, hand smoothing over the white fabric of the dress she wore.

"Wow, Molly you look lovely." He commented, noting the thin straps on the dress and the flowing train behind her. She blushed and wiped furiously at her face, her breathing shaky. John put a hand on her shoulder and she suddenly looked embarrassed.

"Oh he probably thinks I'm a nutter," she said. John shook his head and offered her the crumpled but clean napkin he pulled from his pocket.

"He's just worried about you. To be honest you gave me a good scare too."

Molly bit her lip and moved to sit on the bed. She patted the space beside her and John sat down, his presence was calming and Molly was thankful he was here.

"I didn't want him to see the dress," she explained, "it's bad luck if the groom sees it before the wedding."

Realization dawned on John and he looked at her in understanding. "You're a superstitious one huh? Don't worry; Mary was the same way although I never found her trying on the dress in the bedroom two weeks before the wedding."

Again Molly blushed. "I don't even know why I decided to. I just- I thought it would make me feel a bit better about this whole situation." Her voice lowered to a whisper and John's eyes widened slightly.

"Are you having second thoughts about this? I mean, yes it's Sherlock and he's a little well…Sherlock, but he-"

"No, god no! I love him more than anything John it's just…what if he tires of me? I mean he's not made for relationships let alone marriage and I'm terrified that one day he's going to come home and look at me and he's not going to feel the way he does now and I don't think I could take that." She glanced at him through fresh tears and suddenly she felt ridiculous.

Not only was she crying in front of her fiancé's best friend but she was also questioning the way he felt about her, both now and in the future. But John wasn't going to judge her, there's no way he could. She was his friend and he was the one person who made Sherlock Holmes happy no matter what. He smiled at her, hooking a finger under her chin so she would look at him.

"Molly, that man out there loves you. I've seen him at what I thought was his absolute worst and I didn't think I would be able to handle it but then I heard about all the things you saw and the things the pair of you went through and I know no one other than you can handle it. He's never going to get tired of you and if he does I will personally kick his ass, alright?" he was relieved when his speech earned her a giggle but he hoped she knew he was being completely serious.

Molly Hooper had risked her life for Sherlock as well as himself and if he hurt her in anyway John was going to be sure he never heard the end of it. Standing up and picked up the robe that was lying beside him and handed it to her.

"Why don't you change and go talk to him. He's probably worn a hole in your floor by now." he bent down and kissed her cheek before he slipped out the door. In a split second Sherlock was inches from him, his face demanding to know what was wrong.

John shoved him aside so he could move back to the living room. "She's fine Sherlock. Give her a moment and she'll be out here to talk to you."

The detective sighed but he didn't say anything as he shoved his hands into his coat pockets and leaned against the couch. He practically jumped when he heard the bedroom door open and Molly appeared at the end of the hallway in her robe and her long hair was falling over her shoulders.

John excused himself to wait in the car and he waved to Molly before he left. When the two were alone Sherlock looked at Molly and she was surprised to see the hurt in his eyes.

"What gave you the idea that I would tire of you?" her eyes widened when she realized he had heard at least part of the conversation and she chewed her lip hard enough to draw blood.

"I don't know Sherlock. It's just…I've just been waiting for you for so long and now that I have you I'm scared you'll be gone one day. That's how it always goes anyways. I find someone I care about and the next thing I know they're gone." She shrugged and her lip trembled slightly.

Sherlock grabbed her face in his hands, stroking her cheek with his thumb. "I am never going to leave you Molly Hooper. You're far too important to me and I  _need_ you. Then and for the rest of my life." He kissed her forehead and wiped away a stray tear.

"Now, John and I have a client to tend to. I'll be back by tomorrow morning." He turned in one swift movement, his coat fanning out behind him and he just reached the front door before her voice stopped him.

"Forgetting something again aren't we?" she waved his phone in the air and he remembered why he had returned home in the first place. He smiled as he took it from her hand and pecked her on the lips.

"See, what would I do without you?"


	9. Chapter 9

**Rule 9: Takeout gets boring after a while and eventually she will file a complaint; although it may not just be about the food.**

With his arms full of greasy paper bags and the smell of Chinese food hitting him full force, Sherlock carefully maneuvered the front door open and was instantly thankful for the warmth coming from inside his flat he shared with Molly. He set dinner down on the table by the door and brushed the light coating of snow off his jacket and out of his hair, shivering just slightly before he caught a glimpse of the time on his mobile and he grimaced.

He was late tonight and it was apparent the case he had just wrapped up with John took longer than expected. He picked the bags up and hoped the peace offering would keep him out of deep water with Molly for at least one night. He saw the light was on in the kitchen and he walked in to see the woman in question sitting cross legged in one of the chairs, wearing one of his shirts and reading through a file she had spread out in front of her. He smiled at the sight and let his footsteps signal his arrival, watching her head rise slightly and one corner of her mouth tipped up in a faint half smile.

"I was beginning to think you and John ran away together," she teased as he set the bags down. He scowled and watched her eye them with little interest before she turned her attention back to her work. Sherlock frowned as he pulled out a plastic container and set it in front of her.

"What's the matter? Not in the mood for Chinese?" he took his own box out and went to the drawer, pulling out two forks and setting one down by Molly before digging into his food and waiting for a response. So far all he got from her was silence and it worried him.

"If you want something else I can get it for you," he said and Molly sighed, slamming the folder shut and turning to look at him.

"It's not that Sherlock, it's just that we've had takeout almost every night this week."

Sherlock pursed his lips and pushed his food aside, his appetite suddenly gone. "So you're mad because we eat too much takeout?"

Molly groaned, running her fingers through her hair and tugging slightly in agitation. With a helpless look on her face she stared at him and he was frozen in place. She drew in a deep breath before letting it out and her voice had dropped to a whisper.

"It's not about the takeout Sherlock, not really at least. Honestly I don't care but I've just been thinking lately, what are we going to do if our kids start coming home and asking if it's going to be pizza or Chinese that night? I don't want them growing up thinking that fast food and parents that work ridiculous hours are normal. I want to be a normal mother but how can I do that when we're not even normal to begin with?" She dropped her head in her hands and rubbed at her eyes, suddenly exhausted and when she looked back up, Sherlock was just staring. He shook his head and blinked, looking at Molly with his head cocked.

"Children? Molly love we're not even married, why are we thinking about children? I didn't even know you liked kids and honestly they're really not as great as everyone says."

Taken aback Molly opened her mouth but no words seemed to come out and Sherlock began to pray he hadn't just said something that would have Molly rethinking this entire relationship. Since he had met her Sherlock had never given much thought to Molly being a mother. With her career choice and her obviously horrible taste in men (sans himself) he didn't think she was one to want to raise children.

Maybe he didn't know as much about her as he thought.

He let out the breath he was unknowingly holding when he saw Molly pull her knees to her chest, watching him with watery eyes and a trembling lip. His heart broke for her and he felt slightly guilty that he hadn't given more thought to what she wanted out of life. While children were not something he wanted at the moment he knew there were certain sacrifices he'd be willing to make for this woman and there was always a chance he could change his mind. He'd done it before after all.

"Molly come here," he held out his arms and she slowly uncurled herself from the ball she had curled into and willingly went to him, settling in his lap and burying her face in the crook of his neck.

He gently rubbed circles on her back as she took shaky breaths, trying to keep her body from trembling. She rubbed at her sore eyes and Sherlock kissed her temple gently.

"I'm sorry; I didn't mean to shoot the idea down so quickly. It just took me by surprise is all. Marriage is already a huge step for me, adding a child to the mix is just a lot to think about at once." He wiped her cheek with his thumb and she leaned into the warmth of his touch and her fingers curled around his sweater.

"It's alright," she assured, "right now I have you and that's all I need. We just need to take it one step at a time right?" she smiled and reached for the food he had set out for her earlier.

He chuckled and shook his head at her. Things may not be perfect but they were learning.


	10. Chapter 10

**Rule 10: Whatever you do, don't be late. Especially if it's because of a case, then you may want to tread with extreme caution (but do it quickly).**

Sherlock Holmes always imagined his death would be a dramatic event.

As a consulting detective with his past and reputation he knew he lived dangerously, he had enemies everywhere he looked and he knew there was always a possibility that one day he would wake up for the last time and his life would draw to a close in a most unexpected way.

He did not, however, imagine that to be this day. Nor did he imagine his killer would be the small, mousey pathologist who in just a few short hours would become his wife. Unfortunately as the time ticked by the scenario was looking more and more promising and he bit his lip as he glanced at John and the doctor just glared flattering his spot on the soggy ground. They were both filthy, clothes torn and John had a decent sized bump on his head that would be difficult to explain to Mary. (She already disliked him, how was he supposed to explain to her that her husband may or may not have gotten into a row with a man twice his size and narrowly avoided a bullet that was intended for his skull before they both took a dive in a very questionable looking pond in an attempt to escape?)

"I hope you know I hate you," the soldier said suddenly, trying his best to wring out his dripping wet jacket with a look of disgust.

Sherlock just sighed and folded his hand under his chin. "I know."

"And Molly is going to murder you. You know that too right?"

"Yes, I know."

" _And_ your wedding is in about two hours and we're stuck out here in the middle of nowhere, sopping wet and smelling like a sewer. Did you know that 'oh great one'?"

This time Sherlock growled and rolled his eyes, "Yes John, I know! Now please stop your whining and give me your phone so we can get out of here."

He heard the older man grumble before he tossed the now water-logged device at his friend and Sherlock yelled in frustration, tossing it somewhere behind him where it landed with a rather loud thud. If looks could kill Sherlock would be nothing more than a puddle on the ground.

"Well," he announced, "It looks like we'll be walking."

He glanced at the empty road just a few yards away and tried to ignore the heat of John's glare as he trudged uncomfortably in his wet clothes and prayed to every god in the world that he was not late for this wedding. It would be bad enough to leave Molly waiting but he knew, as well as John and just about everyone else, that if she found out he had decided to take a case while she went out with Mary and a few friends and may or may not have gotten lost in the country side just hours before the big event that things would not end well for him.

While the two weren't far from the city they were still cutting it close and being on foot was not helping their cause. As they walked the tension between them grew at an alarming rate. Sometimes John thought he would never understand what went on in his friend's head, why he would think it was a good idea to tale a case the night before his own wedding was beyond him. A simple stag party like his own was what he had planned with Greg and Mike but of course Sherlock had different plans and it had been too late when John finally realized their taxi was not headed in the direction of his favorite pub.

From that point on the rest of their night and most of their morning had consisted of arguments, big men with guns and more running than he had ever done before. It was pure luck that right before the case had gone straight to hell he had managed to send a quick text to Greg and ask that he keep Molly and Mary busy until they got there.

Only that had been almost an hour ago and since then his phone had been destroyed by the water and he was almost positive either Molly was going to kill Sherlock or Mary was going to kill them both.

Either way things were not looking good.

* * *

"I'm going to absolutely kill him," Molly muttered aloud to the room. She was pacing furiously in her gown, palms smoothing over the white skirt nervously. Mary looked up from her spot in front of the mirror, offering her a sympathetic glance before dialing her husband's number again in frustration. It once again when straight to his voicemail and she growled before she dropped it onto the table and stood up.

"Don't get too worked up, they probably just had a little too much fun last night." She rubbed Molly's arm soothingly but it offered little comfort.

"They should still be here by now, Greg and Mike are here and they went out last night too." She gnawed at her bottom lip and looked at Mary with a hint of uncertainty. "You don't think he's changed his mind do you?"

Mary gawked at her. "Of course not! That man may be a complete nut but he loves you. Even I can see that and I am absolutely certain that he would never leave you hanging like this."

"But-" Molly's doubts were interrupted when the door swung open and a very nervous and uncomfortable looking Greg appeared in the doorway. He pulled at the tie around his neck and looked at Molly.

"He's here."

* * *

For the most part everything seemed to run smoothly after John and Sherlock arrived. They had managed to clean up and get to the chapel with just minutes to spare and Sherlock was at his spot in front of the altar by the time Greg had gone to collect Molly. He jumped, somewhat startled when the music began to fill the room and John gave him a smile and a pat on the back.

"Here we go. First day of the rest of your life."

Sherlock swallowed and watched the people in front of him slowly complete the walk down the aisle, feeling as if time was passing as slowly as possible. For once he wasn't bored, if anything he would say he was nervous. The feeling was only intensified when Mary appeared in a red dress that went well with her hair, followed by Molly who Sherlock was sure never looked more beautiful.

It was natural beauty too, he could detect almost no traces of makeup other than the gloss on her lips and the faintest hint of mascara on her lashes. Her skin was pale against the dress, a creamy alabaster that seemed to glow under the lighting and he longed to reach out and run his fingers across it. The dress itself was lovely as well;it was strapless and hugged her waist, showing off her curves until it blossomed out at her hips, the train trailing out behind her.

She caught his eye as she approached and the blush that ran across her cheeks was one of the most endearing sights he'd seen in a while. She smiled at him as she and Mary finally reached the altar and he offered her a hand that she took, squeezing his fingers tightly. Mary leaned over, pecking her cheek and for the first time noticing the bruised bump on John's head. Her eyes bugged and she glared at both he and Sherlock while guilty eyes refused to meet hers.

As they settled in and the pastor began to recite Molly leaned over to whisper minis ear. "I thought you'd changed your mind."

She felt his fingers curl tighter around her own. "I've already told you, I'm never going to leave you again. Three years was long enough enough and I am not a patient man."

The service had been swift and it had only taken what felt like minutes before they were officially bride and groom. When the announcement tore through the room Sherlock had taken Molly into his arms and kissed her, ignoring John's clapping, Mrs Hudson's tears of joy and Greg's screeching whistle from the front row. At that moment Molly was the only thing that mattered.

He felt her smile into his lips, her fingers running through his hair until she stopped and her eyebrows knit together. He felt something tug at his hair and suddenly Molly presented him with clump of moss he had picked up in the water earlier. He turned and looked at John but he was in a very serious and only slightly hushed 'conversation' with Mary. It looked like he would have to explain this one on his own.

"Where on earth did this come from?" She asked, looking at him sternly. He flashed her best smile and pulled her closer as they made their way back down the aisle as husband and wife.

"Oh John and I decided to take a swim this morning. Nothing to worry about."

"Sherlock..."

 


End file.
